<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>So This Is Love? by clarktaviakru</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985289">So This Is Love?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarktaviakru/pseuds/clarktaviakru'>clarktaviakru</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Suicide Squad (2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Floyds secretly a softie, Fluff, Harley wants a shot at normalcy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jokers a dick, Past Abuse, Past Emotional Manipulation, Some angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:47:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarktaviakru/pseuds/clarktaviakru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months later , when Harley shows up on Floyds doorstep all bloodied and bruised, he's determined to give her normal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(Past) Joker/Harley, Floyd Lawton &amp; Zoe Lawton, Floyd Lawton/Harleen Quinzel, Zoe Lawton &amp; Harleen Quinzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Normal (or not)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>   Floyd hummed along to the music playing in his ears, shuffling his feet to the rhythm like some drunken idiot. The spaghetti in the pot left stains on the lens of his black reading glasses and he swiped at the fog with his free hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of fist meeting metal broke him from his trance, he grabbed one of the knives from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pioneer woman</span>
  </em>
  <span> set his old lady had re-gifted him two christmases ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cautiously, he pried open the door, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god we really need to invest in a peep hole,</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought. He expected to see a goon, someone working for a big boss, someone out for blood, maybe Zoe just ordered pizza without telling him. Instead, he saw Harley Quinn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Six months. It had been six months and neither of them had even bothered to call each other. Neither of them were even supposed to know where the other lived, although Harley had clearly found her way around that considering she was standing on his fucking doorstep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hiya, Floydie.” She grinned her sickly sweet grin. But even in the darkness the night had provided her, Floyd could tell something was wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you just gonna leave a poor girl waiting, or you gonna ‘vite me inside?” She jutted her hip dramatically, crossing her arms. This allowed the porch light to shine over her unnaturally pale face. Bad move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who kicked your ass?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped backward, inviting her in. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt how warm his home was and </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, that spaghetti smells good.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had she even eaten? Not in a few days at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her inner voice nagged at her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>a few months you idiot. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened to you?” He asked, propping his elbows on his kitchen island as Harley, without question, sprawled out on his couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh ya know, the usual when you’re in love with a textbook sociopath,” She attempted to joke, and her bottom lip betrayed her as it quivered between the words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He rescues you, plays with you for a little while, gets bored, smacks you around a little bit. And so the wheel continues!” She exclaims, throwing her hands in the air for a bit of dramatic flare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for bustin’ in on ya like this, I really am. I’ve been botherin’ Ivy too much with this silly stuff. I think it's best I leave her alone. She's pretty pissed off at me, yeah.” Her words come out in a fast string. Connecting to each other like thick honey, garbled in her own sadness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harl- Jesus, Harley slow down!” Floyd puts one hand in front of him, the other rubbing his temple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost gasped as he saw her, the great, the infamous, Harley Quinn. She wasn't  nearly as strong as she was when he last saw her, and that's a lot considering she had been refusing meals at that point in time. The spot where her porcelain skin should be marked with a black tattooed heart is replaced with thick and puffy bruising, scabs itching the corner of her eye every time she blinks. He then sees her legs, her fishnets are ripped to the point where he doesn't even know if they can be called that anymore, and there are sickly bright purple and red bruises coating them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dollface- you can hardly call that ‘smacking you around.’” He sighed, taking a spot on the recliner next to the couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look ridiculous.” Harley noted the fuzzy grey bathrobe, and his pointy black “reading” glasses that are bedazzled with rhinestones at the ends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That, is besides the point.” He adjusts his </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous</span>
  </em>
  <span> reading glasses and wiggles the sides of his robe, earning a laugh from Harley. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank God</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He worried that if she started crying he wouldn't know what to do. Scary witch from another dimension was nothing compared to girls crying. Although he could see her teeth were covered in blood- whether it be hers or someone else's, it was better than her crying and curled up in a ball on his couch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were faint footsteps coming from the hallway, Harley looked to Floyd for a reaction and instead found him reaching for one of the magazines on the mahogany coffee table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Daddy?” The voice of a little girl broke her from her trance and her head snapped up to see a kid- maybe 4’11- standing in purple and pink unicorn pajamas and rubbing her eyes sleepily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit how’d that kid get in here?” Harley pointed, stretching what you couldn't even call her ‘good arm.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit,” Floyd joked, standing up and stretching his arms toward his daughter “How’d that get in here?” He lifted his sleepy, giggly mess of a daughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Flo-yd,” Harley whined in her attempt at a joke, “You ain’t tell me your daughta’ was staying with you.” She fake pouted,standing and hissing in pain as her ribcage pulsed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I didn’t exactly expect a visitor.” Floyd jokingly rolled his eyes at the blonde and she stuck his tongue out at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Daddy who's that?” Zoe asked, staring pointedly at the strange woman in her living room. She was covered in blood and bruises, not to mention the smudged clown makeup and the ripped fishnets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could answer, Harley perked up and extended her bruised hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harley Quinn, nice to meetcha.” Zoe inwardly cringed at the blood on her teeth, but nevertheless took the older woman's hand in hers and squeezed it lightly in an attempt to not cause her any pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s gonna be staying with us for a little while.” Floyd gave Harley a look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Isn’t that right</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It said. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Her grin downgraded to a toothless smile and she nodded, wishing for nothing more than to flop down on his expensive couch and pass out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Baby Girl. I think its time for you to go to bed.” Floyd said, despite his daughters protests.  “Me and Miss Harley have a lot to talk about.” Harleys face fell at that. Why did there always have to be dramatics. Nothing was ever easy for her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enough with the pity party</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Harley tells herself, slapping her smile back onto her face and following Floyd as he carries his daughter back to her room.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing in the doorframe of Zoes Pink and Purple bedroom, Harley softly smiled and watched as Floyd tucked her into bed, whispering some form of either a lullaby or a prayer. Although Harley doubted Floyd was religious, she assumed that his daughter probably was. Harley used to be religious. She had to be. Everytime her Father dumped her off at another girl's home, she cried and cried. She’d get up in the middle of the night on her hands and knees and pray. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she prayed her little heart out. She prayed that her </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be back for her the next morning, and that he’d hug her and take her home. All of the girls had laughed at her, but she sneered in their faces. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“My daddy will be back for me, he loves me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” And then she cried when they had told her </span>
  <em>
    <span>“that's what they all say.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> But, when she’d shown up, uninvited, at his doorstep a few too many times; she’d given up on God. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Harley knew she was overstepping any boundaries, she didn’t say anything. Floyd and Zoe hadn’t seemed to mind either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Floyd was finishing tucking Zoe in, Harley made her way back to the couch. The leather was cool against her aching and bruised bones and she cursed under her breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why don’t you tell me how long he’s been doing this shit to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Floyd had wondered why she hadn’t cried, even though he hated to see people cry. Her boyfriend had just beat her up and fed her to the sharks. And it wasn’t until she told him that this has been happening since they started dating, that it all started making sense. This </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> her </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered when she gave them all a big speech about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Normal’s a setting on the dryer!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She thought she had found normal. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her normal, wasn’t normal at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After about 50 minutes of her telling him very-detailed stories of times her ‘Puddin’ had beat her, or gotten her locked up, or yelled at her, Harleys eyes had found themselves shut. They weighed on her eyes like guilt weighed on a heart and she was not about to pry them open just to tell her jackass friend about times she was abused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, she let herself drift into that warm static feeling called sleep and Floyd made no effort to shake her awake. Instead, he found himself draping a black and red blanket from the back of the couch onto her sleeping, bloodied form. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d have to deal with the stains later. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. In One Piece</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stupid. Careless. Silly mistakes. .</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From all the thrashing and wincing Harley was doing on his couch, Floyd assumed she was having some sort of nightmare. Then, an afterthought; maybe even a flashback. He cringed. </p><p> </p><p>He’d let it go on for far too long, he decided. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but one: he was sure if she kept this up she was going to hurt herself. And two: if his daughter came into the living room and saw the crazy clown lady trying to punch the air and thrashing around on their couch, she’d run away from home. </p><p> </p><p>“Harley, Haaar-leeey,” He shook her shoulder lightly, wishing she didn’t look so brittle and that he didn’t hear her wince as he did so. “Dollface- Crazy Pants-” He reached out to touch her bruised shoulder once more and jumped as her eyes shot open. The familiar feeling of fire spread up her windpipe. Acid rushed from her stomach up to her throat, she bolted for the bathroom, pushing Floyd out of the way and stumbling to the toilet. </p><p> </p><p>Floyd stood awkwardly in the door. He wondered if he should be like- getting her some water or holding her hair back but there was also the familiar pinch in his chest that <em> said stay out of it.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Frankly, Harley was grateful for that pinch considering that she probably would’ve punched him if he tried to hold her hair back. <em> I aint no baby </em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I uh- take a shower?” She lifted her head from the suspiciously clean toilet and Floyd nodded. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, 'course. You can just throw your clothes out the door if you want them washed- they probably stink.” Harley didn’t respond, but he could almost <em> feel </em> her sticking her tongue out at him. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p> </p><p>It’d been about two weeks of tip-topeing around Harley, like walking on eggshells, waiting for her to snap. By then, Zoe adored her. Harley and Floyd had been taking ‘turns’ in his bed. Harley refused at first, she’d been living on his couch, eating his food, using his shower. But he insisted, despite whatever excuse she’d came up with. It was like being preschoolers again, she told herself. (Preschoolers if they were over 5ft tall and taking care of a 5th grader.)</p><p> </p><p>One night before the ‘<em> incident </em>,’ they called it, Zoe came into the bedroom. She was expecting to see her Dad, instead, she saw Harley. She was cuddled around some sort of jacket, it looked old and worn out but she loved it all the same. </p><p> </p><p>“Daddy?” Zoe asked, reaching out in the darkness to shake Harleys sleeping form. </p><p> </p><p>“Nah kid. It’s just me. Your Daddy’s downstairs, I can go get him if ya want.” Harleys voice was hoarse and she looked like she’d just been hit by a bus. <em> Beauty sleep, </em> Harley told herself. <em> Yeah right.  </em></p><p> </p><p>Zoe shook her head and climbed into the empty spot on the big bed. </p><p> </p><p>“Whatddya kids these days watch anyways?” Harley realized how old she sounded. “You guys still watch looney tunes?” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Floyd tip-toed to his daughters room, on his way to check if she was still in bed. He was met with an empty room and the sound of a cartoon mallet falling, followed by horrid old-timey cartoon music. </p><p> </p><p>He followed the noise, right to his own bedroom. He frowned, <em> Is Harley even good with kids? </em>He wondered. </p><p> </p><p>He peered inside to see Harley and Zoe sleeping back to back, and he was pretty sure he saw candy wrappers on the nightstand next to Zoes spot. Chuckling to no one but himself, he made his way over to Zoes nightstand, cleaning the wrappers off and discarding them into the trash can underneath.  </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</p><p>Harley shuffled around Floyd, who was dancing like a dumbass to make Zoe laugh, to the spaghetti pot because apparently <em> spaghetti is the only thing the dummy knows how to cook </em>. </p><p> </p><p>She grabbed one of the porcelain painted plates, reaching for the plastic spaghetti ladle. Her hands were slippery, covered in the fog from the pot.</p><p> </p><p>The crash echoed through the kitchen, playing an excruciating, gut wrenching melody in her ears. </p><p> </p><p>~</p><p>Footsteps rang through the expensive mansion, one after another, with another pair following behind them. Fire spread across her legs after running up the four flights of stairs to get away from him, she knew it was pointless. There was nothing more she could do, other than lay on the floor and anticipate what was sure to come.</p><p>Tears spilled over her eyes, splotching and staining her abnormally, porcelain pale skin with mascara and eyeshadow as she pleaded for him to stop. He never did. He made sure she knew why he 'had' to do it, and she apologized as he beat her to a pulp on the floor. <em> Stupid. Careless. Silly mistakes. </em> His sick grin, which she was used to seeing him flash at other people, was fixated on her as he struck her. She never thought she’d see that grin turn on her, when she first met him. Now, she was terrified of him. The truth was, if he didn’t have someone to abuse, pry apart and manipulate, what did he have? <em> He has me. </em>Harleen Quinzel would’ve said, in her foolish and hopeful voice. Now, she wasn’t so sure. It was the only time he looked happy now. Aside from when they were being chased by a furious Batman, or while they chased said bat. </p><p>By the time he stopped, she was slipping in and out of her own head. <em>Harleen Quinzel</em> would've told one of her patients it was called 'dissociating.' <em>Harley Quinn</em>, would've told her to shut the fuck up. His feet stopped and his grin faded from his face as he backed out of the room, slamming the metal door shut behind him. She heard the beeping sound that only the padlock could make, It was there to make sure she had no way out. When he wanted her there, she was stuck there. Her bruised face was now ruined with tears and her own blood, dripping off of her chin. She curled around herself and sobbed quietly into her bloodied knees, there were times where she'd, inwardly, secretly dare him to go too far. She dared him to kick her head a little too hard, to squeeze his hands around her skinny, bony throat a little too long. Sadly, he never did. She was stuck in this cycle of madness forever, as far as she was concerned. She would wake the next day, kiss him on the cheek and they would both ignore the welts surrounding her eyes and the limp she carried as she walked. She slowly rose to her feet, making '<em>pathetic</em>' whimpering noises as her ribs cracked themselves in and out of place, and met her own eyes in the cracked mirror. She looked disgusting, he would make sure she knew that for as long as the bruises bloomed on her face and her ribs made that god awful cracking noise, he would remind her of how stupid she’d been. That it was all her fault for being such a stupid klutz. But she loved him. <em>He loves me </em>. “He loves me.” A hushed whisper escaped her lips before she could stop them and she ran her fingers through the slowly drying blood clinging to her hair.<em> He loves me. </em></p><p>
  <em>This isn't what love is.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Shit.” She breathed. Her hands trembled as she rushed to get the broom from beside the dryer, crouching as she hurriedly swept the shards up. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I’m sorry.”<br/>
<br/>
“Harley it's fi-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.” She pleaded, repeating herself on a loop. Floyd wondered if she was even talking to him, or someone else. </p><p> </p><p>Surely he was going to hit her. She’d just broken something that belonged to him. She could see it already, the angry flashes of hatred splattered all over his face as his shoes met with her ribs. Well, she couldn’t see him, exactly. She could see Jokers grin as he told her that if she just learned how to listen, he wouldn’t have to do this all the time. She could see the burdened look on his face as he attempted to ‘discipline’ her. In reality, it was just sport to him. </p><p> </p><p>Floyd wordlessly reached for her shoulder, jumping back as though he had been burned when she winced away, turning her head towards the floor and waiting for the blow. </p><p> </p><p>“Zoe, sweetie can you go to your room for a little while?” He nodded towards his daughter, who was once doing her homework and was now making her way up the stairs. </p><p> </p><p><em> Oh god, </em> Harley thought, <em> he told Zoe to go to her room so she wouldn’t see what he's about to do. </em>Surely, that was what he’s about to do. </p><p> </p><p>“Dollface?” His voice was soft, hesitant and Harley felt something inside her crumble. She hurled herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. Floyd felt his heart stop in shock, the words <em>I don’t do hugs, I’m not a hugger </em>resting on the tip of his tongue. There was only a small beat of hesitation before he wrapped his arms around her, surprisingly, the hug didn't hurt at all. She’d expected to earn another patch of bruises, exploding from her ribs and dancing like butterflies all the way down to her stomach, maybe even a few new scars to match the ones she’d hid with eyeshadow that ran across her eyelids. It felt weird, not the bad kinda weird, just weird.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I tried to make this a bit more realistic, but also tried to keep the fact that Joker is a lunatic who does shit like that for fun so I hope its not too over exaggerated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. You’ll always come back to me (3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>reunion time!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harley walked down the stairs, pacing herself so that she could put both feet on the same step. Floyd watched in amusement as she did so, taking double-maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>triple</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the amount of time it would take any other person to walk down them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright so these clothes are getting old, hotshot. I’m gonna walk down to that fancy new shop they opened up, with all those pretty lights," She was getting off track, then snapped back when she saw Floyd "-and steal some shit. Need anything?” She’d been wearing the same clothes for almost three months now, going through the same cycle of passing Floyd her dirty clothes through the crack in the bathroom door as she ran her shower water; and snagging a few of Floyds shirts to wear at night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don't you just use my credit ca-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Aww, where's the fun in that?” Harley pouted, Floyd noticed she’d taken her hair out of her usual style. Probably to lay low, considering the fact that Joker had his goons out looking for her every hour of the day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Except sundays!</span>
  </em>
  <span> She reminded herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, how bout I leave my very unsuspecting card on this here island, and cluelessly walk away?” He offered, setting his card down on the island. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harley playfully rolled her eyes and pretended to swipe the card off the island, like she’d do at Jokers club, distracting one of the poor souls by twisting his collar around her finger, or a hand on the thigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She giggled and rushed out the door. It was better, at least, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> like she was doing something wrong. She hadn’t committed a crime in </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What if she was getting old? She gasped at that thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She came back with all sorts of new clothes, okay maybe she only used Floyds card for one or two things, but he didn’t need to know that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe, just maybe, she swiped a new watch from the unlocked glass case for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley was terrified- to say the least- as Floyd led her through the hallways of what looked like an extremely empty mansion. Waller had her connections, she assumed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It stinks like bleach. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The low grumbling in her stomach, not an indicator of hunger- she’d had more of Floyds </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span> spaghetti- but an indicator of anxiety. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wondered how much begging it took for Waller to let them out of their cages and into another, slightly more fancy, cage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her anxiety rose, and the pit in her stomach grew larger as she approached the door and Floyd stopped in front of it, turning to her with a look that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>you ready? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wanted to shake her head, to run away from the stupid smelly mansion and make some remark about how she had better things to do than play happy family. Obviously, she didn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, she nodded and dragged her toes on the tiles of the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Floyd entered the room to a bunch of expectant faces, as he turned to grab one of Harleys hands he noticed that she’d ran out of the doorframe at the last second. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Harls- Harley-” The group could make out hushed whispers from behind the door and Harleys humorless laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine.” She allowed herself to be dragged into another uncomfortable situation. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She could see it written all over their faces. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their expressions screamed. She left them, she knew she was making the decision to leave her family behind and yet, she did it anyways. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blinded by love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She loved Joker, she knew as much as that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did they expect me to do?</span>
  </em>
  <span> And if she’d refused to leave with him, stuck her middle finger up at him and told him to fuck off, she’d be daydreaming. Or, possibly, dead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She folded in on herself, crossing her arms over her stomach in a somewhat protective manner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until, </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hotstuff is that you?” Harley gasped, her eyes fixated on the man with too many skeleton tattoos. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I thought you were dead?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We found this bloke wandering around New York, almost torched us.” Harley beamed at Digger, who’d decided to speak up, a smug smile tugging at the edge of his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Explosions ain’t no match for a fire demon-devil-thingy. </span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She wrapped her arms around Diablo, who, ironically, smelled like a house fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, even Flag looked relieved to see her. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Surprisingly she looked, </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She had a pair of plain ripped jeans and a plain grey shirt that was way too big to be her own tucked into them. If you could get past the fact that she looked like she’d gotten her ass kicked, and the fading blue and pink tips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was happy the group hadn’t acknowledged the healing bruises on her eyes, or the limp in her leg. Which was mostly due to Floyd sending them a warning text, telling them it was a joker situation and to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> bring it up. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waylon had been carrying her around on his shoulders since she’d gotten there, while she whooped and pointed in the direction she wanted to go. When he finally sat down, she’d settled for laying her head in his lap, and her feet on Floyds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit- Harley is that you?” Harley felt Floyd shift, tapping one of her legs to get her attention. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Huh?” She sat up, staring at the tv and smiled when she noticed cartoon version of her. Terrible accent and all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And that's when Floyd remembered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this chick's famous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span> Literally all of America hated this woman</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Harley watched in amusement as cartoon her screamed at what looked like a poorly portrayed Joker. She smiled thinking about the fact that this would never happen in real life. Like, ever.  </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harley</span>
  </em>
  <span> you worthless two timing piece!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group looked to her, expecting to see a sad expression on her face. Instead, they found her </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughing</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the cartoon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Wait. We can't let everything we have be ruined by a silly misunderstanding.</span>
  <span>” The cartoon-Joker reasoned, Harley noticed he had no metal on his yellowed teeth and his nose was far too long to look like the real Joker. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>And what is it that I'm not understanding?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cartoon me has sass. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That we're two of a kind, that you'll always come back to me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll always come back to me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harley froze, watching the scene with a sort of displeasure, replacing her previous amusement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Yeah, I guess I do, don't I? But…”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“</span> <span>Like the swallows in Capistrano, and there's one other thing you're not getting.”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“What?”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“That you led Batman right to my doorstep!”</span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>Harley jumped as she watched cartoon-Joker hit cartoon-Harley so hard she stumbled back into a board, shattering it as she collided with it. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Alright, that's enough.” She heard Chato mumble, reaching for the remote to switch the tv off.

The group looked to her expectantly, her mouth was parted in a way that made Floyd want to reach out and hug her. </span><span><br/>
</span><span><br/>
</span><span>“Bathroom.” Harley simply stated as she got up and ventured to find the bathroom. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Closing the door, she slowly slid herself against it and heaved into her knee. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No, she wasn’t going to cry. She would, literally, save her tears for her pillow. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She would go home, wait for nighttime and sob into the pillowcase of one of Floyds pillows. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The next day, he would wash them, dry them, and put them back where they belonged without complaint. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just like clockwork. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling herself together after a few minutes of self-pity, she flushed the toilet although it hadn’t been used, and then washed her hands although they weren’t even dirty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What took you so long?” Digger questioned, earning a glare from Floyd and a growl from Waylon. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Why you gots to know what a lady does in the bathroom?” Her accent was heard in her voice and that's when they knew she was back to normal. If you could call it that. “What, you got a thing for me or somethin’?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Yep, definitely back to normal. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright so yeah, weird alternate universe where they made a cartoon for a villain and an anti-hero.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Crazy people don't know they're crazy.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This chapter is going to be a bit dark because I feel like I've made Harley out to be a bit too.. sane. </p><p>Tw for minor self harm. (scratching)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Harleys happy, for the most part. Well, she still thinks about hurting people, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sometimes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she hates it. She loves living with Floyd and Zoe, she really does. And she hates herself when she thinks about hurting either one of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image of herself ripping out their hearts and plucking out their ribs one by one, the sound of tearing muscles creating a melodic tune in her ears floods her memory late at night and </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it's not what she wants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tosses and turns in the creaky bed and tries to wish the thoughts away. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be good. She hopes it’s within her, buried deep under all the death and destruction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hates it, she hates herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand flies up to the tattoo on her jawline that spells </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘rotten’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>and she scratches at it, wishing she could run to the bathroom and scrub it off under the sink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rotten</span>
  </em>
  <span>, rotten is what she is. She has a permanent reminder of it on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scratches at it until the area around it is covered with large welts and tiny beads of blood. Still, she manages to completely miss the words inked into her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Screw up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks to herself. It surprises her by how much she means it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image of blood flashes through her mind and she shakes her head in an attempt to free herself from such sinful thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harleen Quinzel, a part of herself that she’s kept locked away from her mind, bubbles to the surface. She tells Harley that they’re only intrusive thoughts. That she doesn’t want to hurt Zoe, or Floyd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she finds a way to convince herself that Harleen is lying. That she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> rotten, the proof etched into her cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wonders what her life would be like if she was still that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geeky</span>
  </em>
  <span> Girl, who organized her patients files by color, Kaitlyn Langston, Pamela Isley, Jack Nicho- </span>
  <em>
    <span>J. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And suddenly she’s filled with such hatred for the monster of a man. He did this to her. Told her he loved her and left her to drown, beat her to a pulp when she made a mistake, electroshocked her into </span>
  <em>
    <span>insanity</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mind becomes a swirling blackhole of anger, sadness, confusion and a whole bunch of others that she wouldn’t be able to explain without bursting into tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's left thrashing in the bed, sweat forming on the back of her neck and leaving hair stuck to it. She wipes angrily at the tears on her cheeks and throws the blanket off her knees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s hot, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> breathe. The air in the room becomes thick and she feels the sudden urge to get out. The walls feel as though they’re caving in and all she can do is curl around herself protectively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sweat on her forehead is cool and she presses it to her knees in attempt to calm herself. She steadies her breathing, imagining herself breathing along with someone else. Just like she’d done with Ivy in the asylum- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her breathing is shallow again and her mind is clouded by </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Him, him, him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night at the club, the night at arkham. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need a machine gun. Say it, say it. Pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty-pretty. Oh, look at you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not leaving me here, you’re not leaving me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opens and someone steps inside, she prays it’s not Zoe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harley?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She feels a hand on her shoulder and the image of herself biting his finger off plays on the back of her eyelids and she shrugs it away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harley?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks up and immediately regrets it. She sees herself, one of his eyeballs in her hand as she laughs. The laughter plagues her thoughts and she brings both hands up to her head. She tangles her fingers within her hair and rips a few strands out as she tries to remove them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid. Stupid, stupid stupid. Crazy. Crazy? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then it dawns on her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She forgets of Floyds presence until he slowly brings himself down on the edge of the bed, a foot or two away from her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Harley begs, she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Please just- just </span>
  <em>
    <span>get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to hold him and ask him to just tell her something </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To let his voice drown out the bad thoughts and wash them away like they were never there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She weeps as he nods and walks out the door, shutting it behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She whispers on repeat to herself, her hands smacking the sides of her head. The last thing Floyd hears before he falls asleep is Harleys maniacal laugh, melting into sobs being seemingly muffled by a pillow. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like this was cringey but theres no going back now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Such a fine line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Love, hate.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day, Harley is seemingly back to normal. At least, it’s good enough to fool Zoe, who thankfully wasn’t awake to witness last nights events. Floyd, however, isn’t buying it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are hollowed out, like she hasn’t been sleeping. She spaces out mid-sentence and makes a snappy remark about how Floyds spaghetti is slowly poisoning her brain and walks around like a zombie, that makes Zoe laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was expecting a breakdown, eventually. But nothing like this. Maybe some crying and smashed vases. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are scabs on her cheeks, wildly circling her ‘rotten’ tattoo. Zoe has learned nt to question any injuries Harley may or may not show up with. Floyd isn’t going to let it go so easily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to pull her aside and ask her about it, to ask if there's anything he can do, to just do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> other than pretending nothing ever happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches her from the corner of his eye at breakfast as she takes small, tentative bites of the pancakes she and Zoe made, Zoe devours it like it’s the only good food that’s ever made its way into the house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches as Zoe takes a break from the tv screen and tackles Harley, whose eyes go wide for a second- he then watches as Harley almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hits </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zoe in a rage of surprise and what looks like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sadness</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches, well, listens, as Harley takes double the time she usually takes in the shower, and as she exits he notices that the sides of her face are scrubbed raw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, when Harley’s helping Zoe with her english homework, he builds the courage to ask her what the hells got her so down all of the sudden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps into his Daughters room, just as Harleys teasing Zoe about some girl shes got a crush on and poking at her sides, and clears his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harley takes a final poke at Zoe, who playfully slaps her hand away, and looks up in question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I uh, steal Harley for a second?” He questions, scratching the peach fuzz on his chin that Harley makes fun of him for calling a beard. Zoe nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’ve got it from here, besides, Harley gets way too distracted.” Zoe sticks her tongue out at the woman beside her and Harley pouts in fake offense, throwing a pillow at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He-ey it’s not my fault you can’t stop drooling over Ame-” Her sentence is muffled by Zoes hand clamping over her mouth and all Floyd can hear is “mmph mph hm.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Harley makes sure to get a final kick at Zoe as she exiting the door by making fake kissy faces, resulting in the door being slammed in her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Harley questions as Floyd gives her a pointed look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this about Zoe? I was only teasing.” Harley smiles and he notices that it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” He says and Harley pouts. “It’s about… y’know. Last night.” He hesitantly states and Harleys smile falters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bites her lip for a second like she’s considering even saying anything at all, she then grabs his arm and drags him outside to the porch swing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Floyd,” She starts with a sigh. “How long are we gonna keep doing this?” She asks, as if he knows exactly what she’s talking about. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He raises his eyebrows in question and Harley takes a second to gather herself.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“This! Y’know this whole ‘Little House On The Prairie’ thing we’ve gots going on!” Floyd’s just now noticing how her accent has deepened over the months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Floyd asks, Harley puts her head in her hands and he can’t help but wonder what's going on inside her head.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Its just- I can’t stay here forever.” Harleys voice is watery. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says who?” He attempts to joke, he realizes how pathetic he sounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Literally everyone- the </span>
  <em>
    <span>universe</span>
  </em>
  <span> even. You and Zoe need to get your lives back, plus how long until joker goes all stalker on my ass and breaks down your door?” Her voice is begging to rise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harley, you are our normal now, Zoe loves having you here and the Joker has no idea where you are… Plus if it helps, I don’t exactly hate having you here either.” He bumps her shoulder and she scoffs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s delusional. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> delusional.” Her voice is unstable and he so badly wants to wrap an arm around her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m delusional?! Sorry, I didn’t know running back to your crazy mass murderer boyfriend that beats on you isn’t delusional.” He wants to take it back the second it leaves his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harley flinches back like he’s said something unspeakable and retorts back with, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate you.” It sounds desperate, as though she’s trying to will some truth into the words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Harley I-” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Don’t.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And just like that, she’s gone. With the only shirt on her back- which is Floyds- and the jeans on her waist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s only when he turns around that he notices Zoe, with tear filled eyes.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this was so short.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harley walks and doesn’t stop walking until she ends up at the front door of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> mansion- lair? It’s run down and smells like mold, but the things huge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And despite her burning hatred for the man just a day ago she falls into his arms the second she sees his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's dried mascara smudged across her cheeks and she looks like she's just run a marathon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a few seconds, everything is just, fine. Then he starts to question where she’s been, with who and she apologizes a million times while he comes to the conclusion that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ivy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is miserable, to say the least. Zoe stays in her room most of the time, and when she's not she just asks Floyd when Harley’s coming </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to tell her soon, that soon Harley will be home and everything will be the way it was. When the truth is he doesn’t know if she’s ever coming back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he hates himself, almost as much as he hates that clown faced motherfucker. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Everyday he goes through the motions of washing her already clean clothes, and sleeping on the couch every other day despite the knowledge that she won’t be there to fill the empty bed. Zoe occasionally climbs into the spot opposite of where Harley used to, Floyd pretends not to notice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lays out three bowls, and makes more spaghetti than needed for two people. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>His stomach rumbles in the morning and he half expects to walk into the kitchen to find Zoe and Harley making pancakes with lopsided chocolate chip smiley faces and too much whipped cream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last words Harley said to him “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>ring through his head, echoing against his skull as he struggles to fall asleep, remembering the time Zoe forced him off the couch to help make Harley breakfast in bed. Her smile as she pulled Zoe in for a hug and jumped up to wrap her arms around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He misses listening to Harley sing around the house, her voice occasionally cracking followed by Zoes loud laugh. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He just misses </span>
  <em>
    <span>Harley</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>                                    ━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruises come, and they fade. Blood seeps through her clothes, the scars really never heal, and three months later she finds herself on the doorstep of a house she thought she’d never step foot in again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waits for a good thirty minutes, teeth chattering in the cold while she contemplates going in at all. Finally, she builds the courage to slowly rapt on the door. She’s surprised by how fast the door opens. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>When Floyd opens the door, it’s as bad as he expects. Her lips are purple and blue, there's blood leaking from one of her ears and both of her nostrils, her cheeks are blood red like shes been frostbitten, and there's all sorts of other damage that reveals itself once she limps inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Floyd is wordless when she gives him a watery smile that begs </span>
  <em>
    <span>please forgive me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zoe wastes no time racing downstairs as soon as she hears the door open and launches herself into Harleys arms, muttering all sorts of apologies when she winces. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This felt like it was too fast buttttt.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Im going to *try* to have a schedule for this story but no promises !!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>